


Healing Hands, Praying Lips

by writingpancake



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Reader fic - Freeform, Wolffe gets some tenderness, gender neutral reader, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24990169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingpancake/pseuds/writingpancake
Summary: Wolffe had deserted after the war ended. When you and Rex found Wolffe in the weeks following Order 66 he was almost catatonic, wandering the outskirts of the city where Jedi Plo Koon had been killed. It had taken months of care before Wolffe began to recover from his impassive state.
Relationships: CC-3636 | Wolffe/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	Healing Hands, Praying Lips

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Gender neutral Reader Insert fic. I churned this out in an afternoon, but I'm happy with how it turned out. I hope you enjoy and please leave kudos and comments!

You were more irritated than anything as you watched blood drip from you. It was a stupid mistake and, potentially, a costly one. The bacta supplies were limited and the fact that you might have to use a patch on something as silly as this was frustrating.

An agitated sigh escaped you as you grabbed a towel from the counter. You wrapped the cloth around your hand and stepped away from your cooking space.

A fresh wave of irritation washed over you. You had likely ruined the meal you had been preparing. The root vegetable you’d been slicing was definitely unsalvageable. 

You dragged your undamaged hand across your face as you tried to form a plan to save dinner. The root vegetable was lost and it would impact the heartiness of the dish, but it would still taste fine. 

Annoyance gave way to despair. Supplies and credits were limited and you had just wasted one of the very few pieces of fresh produce you had. You knew no one but you would notice the difference, but it still bothered you. A hearty meal always made you feel better and your companions could use a pick me up.

“What happened?”

Wolffe’s rough voice startled you from your thoughts. Turning around, you saw him tensed and looking ready to fight. His eyes darted around, looking for an unseen enemy.

“It’s fine Wolffe,” you said as calmly as you could. “I cut myself. Kitchen accident.” You moved carefully toward him, keeping your body language as relaxed as possible. “I’m fine.”

The clone’s mismatched eyes finally settled on you. He had become increasingly paranoid in the months since the war ended. The former commander’s attention was always partly focused behind him, awaiting an attack from old and new enemies. His brother, the clone captain Rex, managed to remove Wolffe’s inhibitor chip, but not before the Wolf Pack executed Order 66. The trauma of losing his free will and Jedi general within moments of each other had taken a heavy toll on Wolffe’s emotional stability. 

Wolffe had deserted after the war ended. Some part of him realized that he had been manipulated to betray his general. When you and Rex found Wolffe in the weeks following Order 66 he was almost catatonic, wandering the outskirts of the city where Jedi Plo Koon had been killed. It had taken months of care before Wolffe began to recover from his impassive state. 

Now, in the small hut on this backwater planet, Wolffe’s eyes blazed. You were startled to see his focus almost entirely on you. He moved forward and removed his work gloves, shoving them in his pocket. With a touch that was peculiarly gentle given his usually brusque demeanor, Wolffe took your injured hand in his. He unwrapped the towel to examine the injury.

“Wolffe, I’m fine,” you said softly. “It’s just a small cut.”

“A small cut that could get infected. We can’t go to a medcenter or healer. People might be looking for us.” 

His voice was gruff as he took in the damage to your hand. You couldn’t fault his logic. While it may have sounded, on the surface, like a product of paranoia, the end of the war was recent enough that any clones found deserting would be executed for treason. You would face the same fate if you were found to be aiding the wayward clones.

Wolffe walked you over to the small dining setup and sat you down. He turned and retrieved the medkit that was stored under the floorboards. Placing the medkit on the table, Wolffe sat down in front of you.

You were grateful that Wolffe didn’t seem to notice the blush that spread across your cheeks when he placed your hand on his lap. He was solely focused on treating the injury you’d caused yourself and said nothing as he cleaned the wound. You were keen to finish up and get back to preparing dinner, primarily so you could hide your flustered face from Wolffe.

But when the wound was cleaned and the batca patch applied, Wolffe did not release your hand. Instead, he held your hand gently between his two larger ones and bowed his head. You were struck with the thought that he looked like he was praying, your bandaged hand serving as his prayer beads.

You held your breath as Wolffe’s thumbs came to rest on your palm. He applied firm pressure with his digits and looked up at you sternly.

“You need to be careful. You can’t get hurt like this.”

“It’s only a little cut,” you started.

“This time,” he snapped. “Next time it might be a bigger cut. Or you might lose a finger. Or it could be someone attacking you. You need to be more aware of what’s going on around you!”

The pressure he kept on your hand didn’t change as his voice became more strained. There was a quiet desperation in his eyes as he lectured you. 

Wolffe was scared for you, you realized. You raised your uninjured hand and placed it on top of his, brushing your thumb across his knuckles.

“I know,” you said quietly. “I know.”

Leaning forward in your seat, you brought his hands to you face and pressed a soft kiss against his fingers. 

Wolffe’s breath caught. You watched as his face crumpled and the tension in his shoulders melted. He pulled your coupled hands back to him and pressed them to his forehead. All at once, his breath left him in a quiet sob. 

You pressed another soft kiss on top of his head, his hair soft against your lips. 

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> In Star Wars language, "I Know" means "I Love You."
> 
> Please leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed this fic!


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